ted with fir
branches--even whole Christmas trees. One held a whole cargo of Santa
Clauses in a bower of green, each one with a cedar-bush in his folded
arms, as a soldier carries his gun. The lights were blazing out in the
stores, and the hucksters' torches were flaring at the corners. There
was Christmas in the very air and Christmas in the storekeeper's till.
It had been a very busy day. He thought of it with a satisfied nod as
he stood a moment breathing the brisk air of the winter day, absently
fingering the coupon the girl had paid for the shawl. A thin voice at
his elbow said: "Merry Christmas, Mr. Stein! Here's yer paper."

It was the newsboy who left the evening papers at the door every
night. The storekeeper knew him, and something about the struggle they
had at home to keep the roof over their heads. Mike was a kind of
protege of his. He had helped to get him his route.

"Wait a bit, Mike," he said. "You'll be wanting your Christmas from
me. Here's a dollar. It's just like yourself: it is small, but it is
all right. You take it home and have a good time."

Was it the message with which it had been sent forth from far away in
the country, or what was it? Whatever it was, it was just impossible
for the little dollar to lie still in the pocket while there was want
to be relieved, mouths to be filled, or Christmas lights to be lit. It
just couldn't, and it didn't.

Mike stopped around the corner of Allen Street, and gave three whoops
expressive of his approval of Mr. Stein; having done which, he sidled
up to the first lighted window out of range to examine his gift. His
enthusiasm changed to open-mouthed astonishment as he saw the little
dollar. His jaw fell. Mike was not much of a scholar, and could not
make out the inscription on the coupon; but he had heard of
shinplasters as something they "had in the war," and he took this to
be some sort of a ten-cent piece. The policeman on the block might
tell. Just now he and Mike were hunk. They had made up a little
difference they'd had, and if any one would know, the cop surely
would. And off he went in search of him.

Mr. McCarthy pulled off his gloves, put his club under his arm, and
studied the little dollar with contracted brow. He shook his head as
he handed it back, and rendered the opinion that it was "some dom
swindle that's ag'in' the law." He advised Mike to take it back to Mr.
Stein, and added, as he prodded him in an entirely friendly manner in
the r